Rain was lashing the windows of Locksley Manor, but inside, seven-year-old Marian Fitzwalter warmed herself in the sunshine cast by Robin's smile. Two and and half years older than she, Robin was approaching his tenth birthday, and Marian adored and admired him, though in secret.

He had led her furtively into his father's bedchamber, promising to show her something special, and Marian was excited to be sneaking about his house on an adventure.

"Before I show you, Wren," he'd said quietly, "do you know who Thomas Beckett is?"

Marian proudly lifted her chin. "I'm not stupid, Robin! Everybody knows about Saint Thomas. I have to pray to him to intercede for me, whenever I come home with my dress torn or muddied."

"What, every day, then?"

"You know it's not that often. Besides, dressing up in your old clothes has saved my gowns, and my father's temper."

"Good! I'm glad to hear my plan worked!"

"And it's not only then, that I have to pray to him. I'm told to, whenever I shun my embroidery, to run off with you and practice archery."

Robin's cocky snicker drew Marian's temper. "It's not funny! You wouldn't understand, being a boy! It's not fair that you're encouraged to do all the fun things, while girls are forced to sit at home and poke endless needles through endless boring cloths! I should never have been born a girl!"

Instantly, Robin was sorry he'd laughed. He hated it that Marian was so unhappy.

"Shh," he said gently, longing to soothe her. "It's alright. You make a wonderful girl, Marian. You're the best kind of girl...a girl who likes all the fun things boys get to do, while still liking girl things."

"What 'girl things?' " she pouted.

"I don't know. Dancing, and flowers, and soap. Those things. You not only like the 'boy things,' Marian, but you're really good at them! But all the while, you're so...feminine. And pretty! I fall asleep at night, thinking how pretty you are."

He hadn't meant to make that revelation. It was true, and it had spilled out because he wanted to make her feel better. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't mock him for his confession.

She didn't. She didn't say anything about it, feeling somewhat embarrassed, yet overwhelmed and overjoyed, as well.

Pretending to ignore it, she quickly asked, "Robin, what do you want to show me?"

Thankful for her silence, Robin reached for and opened a small wooden casket, then carefully placed its contents in Marian's hands.

"It's a beautiful brooch," she said thoughtfully, hiding her disappointment, "but why is it so special, we had to sneak in here to see it?"

He paused a moment before explaining, to enjoy her reaction. "Thomas Beckett gave that to my mother, at my christening," he proudly announced at last.

"Saint Thomas was at your christening? You're lying!"

"I'm not. But of course, he wasn't a saint then, just the Archbishop of Canterbury."

" 'Just!' " she scoffed, holding the brooch as if it were a holy relic.

"What do you know about him, other than he hears your prayers over your gowns, Marian?" Robin asked, wanting to tell her all he knew.

Her eyes darted to the door, to make certain they were still alone. She knew what she had to say was better left unspoken.

But not to Robin. Robin boldly never shied away from the truth.

Lowering her voice, she asked, "They say he was murdered, in his own cathedral, by the king. Is it true, Robin?"

"Not exactly," he quickly enlightened her. "The king didn't do it. But he was angry at him, and in his rage, he called out for anyone to rid him of the man. And so, some of his subjects, thinking they were doing His Majesty's bidding, drove their swords through him while he was at prayer."

A shudder passed through Marian. "How awful! Is that why the Church made him a saint?"

"He stood up for the rights of the Church against the Crown, and so died a martyr. But that's not all, Marian. When he was dead, they discovered his flesh was in bloody tatters from wearing a hairshirt under his robes, and he had vermin in his braces, on purpose, to help him remember not to sin."

Marian's incredulous face showed she didn't approve much of that information.

"It was a spectacular discovery," Robin continued, "because, you see, before he was Archbishop, he always dressed in the most elegant finery you could imagine. Which is why he's such a good choice for you to pray to, about your gowns!"

"He must have been wealthy," she commented.

Robin was pleased to correct her. "No. He was born of the merchant class."

"A merchant? How did a merchant rise so high?"

"It's what I've been trying to tell you," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I don't think birth matters so much as a person's character! And maybe, King Henry thought so, too. Thomas Beckett served him well, and became his best friend, and he made him his Chancellor. And later, he elevated him to Archbishop of Canterbury. It doesn't matter what station a person's born to, Marian! One man is much like another...some good, some bad. There are serfs in my village with more true nobility in their souls than any of the men I've seen at the king's Court."

His passion was contagious. "I believe you," she told him, sincerely.

Their eyes met over the brooch, and held. Robin began to feel funny. Again, without meaning to, he made a second heartfelt confession to her today.

"I want you to have it one day, Marian. I'll give it to you, on a special day, when we're grown."

"Like my birthday?"

"No. A day even better than that."

"What day? Tell me."

He wouldn't, but her little girl's head and heart dreamed that night of their wedding in Locksley.

...

Marian's memory had been a flash through her mind, as she stood holding Robin's mother's brooch, with Gisbourne hovering over her, expecting some kind of reward for his gift.

He was winning, he told himself. Winning her, at last. Her earlier smiles today, her obvious emotion at receiving his gift, all told him his persistence was finally paying off.

And it was happening none too soon, for his feelings for her had changed. From merely admiring her beauty, and wanting a suitable bride to wear on his arm and present him with heirs, he'd evolved through wanting her because she'd once belonged to Hood, to wanting her because he couldn't help himself. He burned for her, found himself consumed by her.

Unable to help himself, he seized her by her wrists and begged, "You've been a maiden too long! Marry me, Marian! Be Lady Gisbourne! That brooch is just the beginning of what I can give you!"